Yellow
by murderofonerose
Summary: Looking at the stars. Ford/Arthur
1. Version Un

**Warning:** Contains slash, or at least slash-if-you-squint

**Pairing:** Ford/Arthur

**Words:** 429

**Disclaimer:** Is it really necessary to point out that I am not Douglas Adams? Is that what people really need? (I'm not even English and I don't even look like a Douglas.)

**A/N: **This is the not-so-slashy version... but the love is still there, I swear. I had to start over to get closer to what I'd _meant_ to write (since the boys decided they didn't want to cooperate the first time around) and that shall be posted shortly.

Thank you, TheRimmerConnection, for looking this over for me and being generally awesome. :)

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**Yellow, Version Un**

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"Look at them. All of them up there, twinkling like that…" Ford sighed. "Do they look smug to you?"

Arthur, who had not been expecting this line of questioning at all, blinked.

What Arthur _had_ been expecting was an evening at the pub, probably without Ford as he had not heard from the out-of-work actor in some days and thought perhaps that he'd found some sort of work to be in. What Arthur had in fact gotten was a surprise crashing-into with Ford, who was just coming out of the Red Lion after waiting for him to show up for quite some time and just having given up. This had led to the obligatory task of helping Ford get home without stopping too many innocent passers-by to ask about flying saucers.

At some point Ford had become bored with this idea and decided to run off and lie down on a nice grassy hill, pull Arthur down with him instead of accepting an amused hand up, and ask some questions Arthur had not been expecting.

After a moment's thought, Arthur replied, "No, they mostly just look twinkling to me."

"They're definitely smug," Ford decided. "If I were that smug, I don't think I'd bother twinkling. They probably only shine on this stupid planet so you can see which direction you're bumbling around in…"

Arthur blinked again, still rather confused. "Who, me?"

Ford made an odd hiccoughing noise, as if he'd had to swallow a few words in order to catch the query and in doing so had completely lost his previous train of thought. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at Arthur quizzically. "I suppose so," he replied, though he sounded far from sure. "I mean, I meant 'you all'… in the general sense. But I may as well have meant you specifically, too."

This, Arthur decided, was rapidly turning into one of those conversations that would make much more sense if he too were comfortably drunk. "What about you?" he asked, feeling as though this was an at least somewhat reasonable question.

"What about me? I just came along." With a laugh, Ford flopped back down. "Look at them. Yellow light, old light… When I get a lift out of here, you should come with me. I could take you…" He grinned. "You'll get a different perspective on things then, that's for sure."

Arthur didn't know what Ford was talking about, but he was quite mistaken in thinking that his friend didn't either. Entirely ignorant of his misunderstanding, he smiled amicably and said, "All right."


	2. Version Deux

**Warning:** Contains slash

**Pairing:** Ford/Arthur

**Words:** 429

**Disclaimer:** I am still not Douglas Adams.

Thank you, TheRimmerConnection, for looking this one over too. :)

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**Yellow, Version Deux**

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"Look at them," Ford whispered, so Arthur looked.

A great number of stars looked back down at him from the black expanse of sky. For a moment, even though he was only lying in his very ordinary, very familiar back garden, Arthur felt certain that he was going to fall up into them. He was very glad that Ford was curled around him, preventing this from happening, and decided to say so.

"I'm very glad," Arthur said, "that you're here stopping me falling into the sky." He paused to consider what he'd just said, decided to blame the silliness of it on the wine, and giggled. "'Course, if you weren't here telling me too, I probably wouldn't have looked."

"That's the trouble with you," replied Ford with undeniable fondness. "You should look at the stars more often, since they're going to all the trouble of shining for you. I've seen better, of course, but as night skies go this isn't bad. But, hey…" He sighed, leaning into the crook of Arthur's neck and breathing against his skin. "They're even better to see up close. Bright and warm—" he snuggled even closer, moving a little more than just a simple embrace would call for "—and beautiful."

Arthur smiled drowsily. He liked it when Ford talked about the stars, partly for the poetry and partly because it generally led to some very nice, very tender sex. When Ford talked about space ships or his home – those two things were somehow linked in those sorts of ramblings, though Arthur couldn't for the life of him figure out why – the sex was frantic, almost desperate, and still nice in its own way but somehow a little more wearying. There were many other different ways it could be, but for some reason those stood out.

"Look at them," Ford told him again. "All that old, yellow light shining down."

"I think that's mostly the kitchen light, actually…"

"_Shh_. It's the stars if I say it's the stars."

Arthur giggled again, and it was such an undignified sound that he really would have to remember to blame the wine later.

"Want to show you the stars," Ford murmured, now breathing the words against Arthur's lips. "Come with me to see them?"

As Arthur answered yes Ford felt guilty for not mentioning that he also meant this literally, but it wasn't the right time to tell him that yet. So the stranded hitchhiker from a planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse made sure to be very tender as an apology for the omission.


End file.
